Apathy
Deja Vu.
I knocked softly as I opened the door, a gesture I really didn’t have to do, but it helped ease a miniscule amount of tension for whoever remained behind. I passed the first bed, curtained off; the soft glow of a television and the sound of some sitcom emitted from behind it. I made way towards the second bed, the one by the window with a spectacular view. I glanced at Allen Hamilton lying in bed, the only thing attached to him was his IV drip with the morphine attached with one of the connectors.
“Hello Mr. Hamilton, I’m Doctor Jameson and I hear you had some questions for me.”
He glanced up at the man who stood clutching desperate to his hand, sorrow and guilt permeating off him in waves.
“You don’t have to be here for this,” I said.
He squared his shoulders, “I’m not leaving him alone.” There would be no further discussion. I nodded and moved to the curtain divider, pulling it around the bed, offering what privacy—and less chance of more witnesses—I could.
“Doc, don’t mind him, he’s just a tad protective of me. Always has been.”
I offered a slight smile down at the man on the bed. I glanced at the foot of his bed and moved for the chart hanging off its edge. I checked for the last administered dose and smiled. This one would only be too easy; what was one more injection compared to what he’s already been through?
“Would you excuse me Mr. Hamilton, I need access to the machine you’re standing in front
of.”
His brother nodded and we shifted around the bed. I lent against the machine, very casual like, I couldn’t permit myself to be anything but—apparently my comfortable demeanor in situations like these helped too. I waited till they were in the mirrored position as before, joined hands, a sign of comfort that has long since lost its meaning to me. I nodded and glanced at Allen who focused entirely on me.
I pointed out two separate buttons, “This one is to switch the dosing from automatic to manual, and this, this one, the arrow means up.” I handed him the small control the nurses would use when the automatic option was acting up. The eyes staring back into mine
expressed nothing but understanding and acceptance.
“Thank you.”
“Hello Mr. Hamilton, I’m Doctor Jameson and I hear you had some questions for me.”
He glanced up at the man who stood clutching desperate to his hand, sorrow and guilt permeating off him in waves.
“You don’t have to be here for this,” I said.
He squared his shoulders, “I’m not leaving him alone.” There would be no further discussion. I nodded and moved to the curtain divider, pulling it around the bed, offering what privacy—and less chance of more witnesses—I could.
“Doc, don’t mind him, he’s just a tad protective of me. Always has been.”
I offered a slight smile down at the man on the bed. I glanced at the foot of his bed and moved for the chart hanging off its edge. I checked for the last administered dose and smiled. This one would only be too easy; what was one more injection compared to what he’s already been through?
“Would you excuse me Mr. Hamilton, I need access to the machine you’re standing in front
of.”
His brother nodded and we shifted around the bed. I lent against the machine, very casual like, I couldn’t permit myself to be anything but—apparently my comfortable demeanor in situations like these helped too. I waited till they were in the mirrored position as before, joined hands, a sign of comfort that has long since lost its meaning to me. I nodded and glanced at Allen who focused entirely on me.
I pointed out two separate buttons, “This one is to switch the dosing from automatic to manual, and this, this one, the arrow means up.” I handed him the small control the nurses would use when the automatic option was acting up. The eyes staring back into mine
expressed nothing but understanding and acceptance.
“Thank you.”